An Exultation of the Urge to Sin
by dangerousdame
Summary: Based on the book.  Alex had been trying to go straight, but when he was made a mysterious offer, he was plunged back into the life he had sworn to avoid.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: This story is based on the book, or, to be more exact, the British/New edition. This includes a final chapter where a matured Alex no longer finds violence fun and wants to settle down. It was cut out of the American edition because they felt it was too unrealistic._

_The title is based on author Anthony Burgess's claim that, by not having the final chapter in the movie, "A vindication of free will was turned into an exultation of the urge to sin". (Gee, Anthony, been swallowing many dictionaries lately?)_

_The characters are all from 50's counter-cultural books- aside from Alex, Holden is from Catcher in the Rye and Tralala is from Last Exit to Brooklyn- her style of speech here is from the book, rather then a series of typos._

_Oh yeah, and I don't own any of this._

Starless Records was a merzky little shop that didn't get many of London's fine young malchicks as customers, there being hardly any pretty polly to crast. It was run only by Your Humble Narrator and a bezoomy American malchickwith the emya of Holden, who hated all of Bog's glories, including music. Your little Alex has never been a capitalist, but the sneety of sending it all up in flames for the cutter brought smiles to my face.

So when a pyahnitsa sharp with more scars than ever had I seen, poor molody Holden nearly fell over his own two feet to serve her.

"What'll it be? We've got every goddamn record ever made thanks to old Alex over there."

"Any Buddy Holly?"

"Somewhere."

Holden began to kopat through the stacks of lovely music. The devotchka snaked her way over to Your Humble Narrator, and gave me the once over. She looked like she had polled every malchick in the Northern Hemisphere, Oh My Brothers, though she looked by now rather grazzy.

"Didnt ya use ta be Alex DeLarge?"

She slurred her language and had a thick Brooklyn accent. She smecked at the sight of my sad predicament. Holden was still searching for her Hound-and-Horny music, govoreeting about the "goddamn crummy mess around here."

"Id ask what happened ta ya but yad tell me. Anyway howd ya feel about a little buisiness?"

I began to govoreet in reply, but the devotchka cut me off.

"Not like that. I havent turned any tricks since I left Brooklyn. I meant your kinda business. The kind ya used ta be in not this music crap."

"I don't do that anymore."

"I can tell. If ya did maybe ya wouldnt be livin in this slum."

"You don't understand", I said, controlling my Nadsat for purposes of conversation, "I can't. It's not fun for me. I wasted my time killing and screwing and now I want to live like normal people."

"Yeah sure. If ya change yer mind call the number on this card. The names Tralala. I can pay ya more than this miserable junkyard can."

She exited, not waiting for her music. As I looked at her card, I wondered at the nature of her business.


	2. Chapter 2

I finally took the merzky American dama up on her offer. I govoreeted with her, and she suggested we meet in the Korova Milkobar. I still viddied the mesto now and again, although not as much as in my old jeezny. I hoped Tralala knew the sort of malchicks who went there- after all, there was a reason most devotchkas don't go to the milkobar.

When I privodeeted her in, Alice (the babootchka who ran the place) pointed to us and said:

"I thought I told you not to come back in here!"

"Me?" I begged.

"Not you- her!"

I turned and viddied Tralala, who waved the sharp aside.

"Don't worry I wont wreck your precious palace. Gimme a glass."

"Alright, but if you start anything this time, I'll knock you into next week. How do you want your milk- hallucinatory or with knives?"

"Knives."

Tralala smecked and turned to Your Humble Narrator after Alice had taken her departure

"Old bag doesn't like me. So anyway, here's the story: I was involved in job that- to make it short- went wrong. I was set up. I want to know why. It's as simple as that."

"So what do you need me for?"

"Well, you see, one of my former colleagues is currently locked in the basement of my hotel. He's not talking, but I figure someone like you could make him."

I swallowed my milk-plus, while she reassured me.

"If it's about ethics or that sort of crap, forget it. I can tell you now, he deserves a hell of a lot more then you could ever do to him. Just trust me on that."

"How much will you pay me?"

"Five thousand in American money. I dunno what that translates to here, but you can get it changed. And don't worry about payment. I can get you the dough."

I thought about the offer. I really was broke, and such bugatties for such a small effort seemed to come from Bog and his angels. Still, it bothered me.

"Can I think about it?"

"Okay, but hurry up."

As she put down her pretty polly for the drink, I took her hand to say fare thee well. She suddenly creeched and fisted my arm down onto the table, snarling like a koshka. I brosayed her off of me, and she loveted herself.

"Sorry. I'm just...excitable. I don't like people touching me."

I took another sip of milk-plus. I found it necessary.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Since it appears most of my readers haven't read Last Exit to Brooklyn, I feel that I should give some background on Tralala. She was a teenage prostitute and small-time criminal who enjoyed alcohol and violence, and most likely did not have a heart of gold. Then, just when I was beginning to really like the book, the author arranged for her to pay for her sins in a manner so gruesome it was probably shown to Alex during the Ludovico Treatment. Her backstory may come up, but it won't be a huge plot element._

When I came back to Starless Records, I viddied that Holden had already closed up and was in the back, reading. He briefly looked up when Your Humble Narrator came inside, nodded in my general direction, and then returned to his biblio.

"Greetings, Oh My Brother. I see you have books under your arms. In these dark times, it is good to see fine young malchicks enjoying such wholesome pursuits."

Holden gave me a look that said he knew I was smecking at him. He showed me the cover of his malenky biblio.

"It's the new F. Alexander. He's a screwy old guy, but he's got some good ideas."

"Tell me", said I, "Are you not involved with the local bands of young nadsat prestoopniks?"

He shifted, as if he had been made uncomfortable by the question.

"Gangs, you mean? I used to be. Didn't last long, if you want to know the truth."

"Why not?"

"They were all such goddamn phonies. Acting like they were anti-establishment, when they were just being bastards."

There was an uncomfortable silence, until the American malchick sighed and started govoreeting again.

"Alright, I kind of enjoyed the fights. I'm pretty good. Before I ran away, I used to be captain of the fencing team. I just couldn't get into the other stuff."

I grinned.

"Devotchkas?"

"My problem is, when girls tell me to stop, I stop. I mean, what if they're serious?"

"No wonder thou art a virgin as yet."

He glared at me and buried himself in his reading. I went over behind my desk and took out my old horrorshow nozh.

"You know, Oh My Brother, I suppose I would have been your age when I last viddied this."

"Huh. You thinking of getting back in the life?"

"At present, I am undecided. Tell me, who art the leaders of todays youths?"

Holden messeled for a moment.

"Well, there's Billyboy."

"Surely thou art being sarky. That bratchny would be far too starry at twenty-seven."

"Nah, it's a new guy. These hoods, they like to take on the names of their predecessors. It kills me. Your old gang's still running, but I don't know who's in charge. Look, I got in a few fights after I left that crummy boarding school, but that doesn't make me the goddamn king of British crime."

"I viddy. Thy help is most appreciated."

I looked at my nozh, and made up my rasoodock what to do.


End file.
